


Fragments

by andrastes_grace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Background Relationships, Female Friendship, Gen, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 05:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10326287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrastes_grace/pseuds/andrastes_grace
Summary: A series of moments between Elissa Cousland and Morrigan, and how they came to be friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alyssa_Allyrion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyssa_Allyrion/gifts).



Everything they are, everything they experienced, leads to this.  A noble’s daughter and a witch of the wilds face each other before a mirror, hidden deep within an elven temple.

The knife is heavy is Elissa’s hand.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s all that can said.  Or perhaps there’s more.

 

_Apostate_

Elissa had heard the word used many times.

There were Brother Aldous’ droning histories – names and dates learned by rote, Ferelden’s bloody history turned into a dry stream bed in a dusty library.

Mother Mallol preached her sermons, where Elissa learnt to repeat the words ‘magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him’ before she even knew what they meant.

And then there were Nan’s stories – tales of blood and bone and dark forests.

An apostate was a sinner, a monster, a distant and unreal figure.  In the shelter of her castle home it was hard to believe they even existed.

“You’re staring again, Warden.” Morrigan said, while eating her cheese and bread with little enjoyment.  They’d travelled from the Korcari Wilds to the Lothering together, and Morrigan still didn’t appear to know her name.  Earlier Elissa had watched Morrigan transform into a wolf and rip out the throat of a bear.  It was hard to connect that image to the young woman making a face at her slightly hard, too-dry bread.

“You don’t look like an apostate.” Elissa responds, without thinking (or maybe she’s thinking too much about home and family and loss).

“Oh?  And what _should_ I look like?”

Elissa thinks of Nan’s stories – of the hideous witches made ugly by their rejection of the Maker and all that was good.

“I just meant that you’re very pretty.”

Back home that would’ve been a success, but Morrigan just laughed.  “Perhaps you should aim that pitiful attempt at flattery at Leliana.  Or Alistair.”  She says the names like she just stepped in horse dung.

Elissa blushes, angry, and wonders if her compliments were always so well received back home because she was the Teyrn’s daughter.

 

“I’m not scared of magic.”  Elissa’s reply to Morrigan’s accusation was a little too quick, and a little too defensive.  “I just don’t understand it.”

“And I do not understand the nobility, and yet you do not see me cower in fear from you.”

They were talking at camp again, the Circle Tower now a disturbing memory.

“You jest, but I remember some parties where I thought war would break out because someone used the wrong fork.”

It felt slightly surreal to be sitting by the fire and make jokes, given what they’d left behind.  Elissa picked up a stick and poked the fire with it, watching as the flames sparked.  She thought about the people – what had been left of people – in the tower.  She’d met mages in the past.  First Enchanter Irving had visited Highever when she’d been young, and she’d been permitted – with Templar supervision – to play with one of the young apprentices that travelled with him.

She wondered if that girl had been one of the abominations killed.

“I want to know more about magic.”

“And what use could that possibly be to you?”

“None.  Except for making me less scared.”

“So you admit it.  You _are_ scared of magic.”  Morrigan was infuriatingly smug for the rest of the night.

 

_Stories_

Eleanor Cousland used to tell her daughter stories of pirates.  Nothing bad ever happened, and the stories would always end with the more or less heroic crew sailing off to their next adventure.

They were perfect stories for a firing a young girl’s imagination.  Soon she had her own ship (several crates pushed together with an old table cloth as a sail.  Formally it was a tapestry, until her parents had found her ship), and her own crew (Rory Gilmore, when he wasn’t busy with his squire duties.)  Her adventures would last until bedtime.

And they would all live happily ever after.

 

Flemeth told Morrigan about men, and their weaknesses.  For Morrigan, a game was luring templars deep, deep into the swamp.

Sometimes the cries for help would last for days.

Later – when she was much older - she would lure men for different reasons.  Morrigan would often think of butcherbirds during those games, or spiders.

“I am… sorry about your mother.”  Morrigan said, her awkwardness coming from voicing unfamiliar words, as she and Elissa sat with each other at camp.

“There was nothing you could’ve done.” Elissa replies.   “You weren’t there.”

“I just meant –“ For the first time, Morrigan sounds lost.  This path is a strange one for her to walk.

“I know.”  Elissa covers Morrigan’s hand with her own and squeezes gently, “Thank you.”

Neither woman knows if it is the thanks or human contact that leaves Morrigan speechless.

 

Elissa tries to comfort Morrigan after the death of Flemeth.  She’s as unsure of the words to use as Morrigan was.  Elissa doesn’t understand how Morrigan can thank her.  She thinks – she _knows_ – that when she meets the murderer of her parents it would not be to thank him.

(and she’s right about that, when she ends Howe’s life while meeting his eyes.)

 

_Gifts_

Bryce Cousland wanted Elissa trained as a warrior – the same way Fergus was trained, the same way he’d been trained.  The same way Oren would’ve been trained, one day.

Elissa would go through the drills like a puppet, and then sneak off to the stables.  She had friends among the children who worked there, and she learnt all sorts of useful things that no noble lady should know.  Like – how to pick a lock (or a pocket), how to throw a knife, and how to use any advantage in a fight.  When her father found out, Elissa expected him to be angry.  Instead he got her a new teacher, and a whole new style of fighting to learn – one that focused on speed and wit and cunning.

It wasn’t the way a noble lady should fight, but ultimately more useful.  Darkspawn, after all, don’t exactly fight with rules.

 

One day Morrigan found a mirror.  She found it in a noblewoman’s bag.  The fact that it belonged to someone else was no issue – much of what she and Flemeth owned came from the men lost in their swamp.  It was small, designed to be carried easily, and made of gold and jewels.  To a girl adorned in fur and feathers it was the definition of wealth and beauty.  The jewels formed a pattern, making a rainbow of light as Morrigan moved it around.  It was useless and pretty and hers.

No, the fact that it was stolen was never the issue – the fact that Morrigan had been the one to steal it was.

Flemeth was right, of course, to destroy it.  Morrigan had risked too much to take it.

(but even as she told herself the lesson was learnt she would find small bits of finery to make her own.  But they would always be found in the forest, or dropped by those they hunted.  She would never again risk herself for something so foolish).

“What is that you have there?  A mirror?”  Elissa had done a poor job of hiding it as she approached Morrigan.  The witch took hold of Elissa’s arm, her hand resting on the back on Elissa’s hand and she sought to get a better look at the golden object.  “It is… just the same as the mirror that Flemeth smashed on the ground so long ago.”

Elissa couldn’t hold back her smile any longer, “Do you like it?”

“I do.  ‘Tis a fine object, Warden, but a pointless one to carry on your journey.”

“Well, I won’t be carrying it.  It’s for you.”  She pressed the mirror into Morrigan’s hands, closing the other woman’s fingers around the mirror’s stem.

“It is incredible you found one so like it.  I am uncertain what to say.”  She couldn’t meet Elissa’s eyes.  The woman’s smirk was infuriating, among other things.  “You must wish something in return, certainly.”

“It’s simply a present,” Elissa replied, but before Morrigan could offer her thanks she added, “for a beautiful woman.”

Morrigan’s thanks died, become a spluttering of embarrassment and a rising blush that she tried to hide by turning away.

 

When she takes the mirror Morrigan knows that Elissa would like to kiss her.  She thinks, perhaps, it would be nice to kiss her.

(but there is no room for ‘nice’ or ‘frivolous’ or ‘love’)

She’s already allowed herself to get too close.  She tells herself that the warden can’t truly care for her – that love is a weakness.  And she tells herself that Elissa – when she gets tired of waiting for a romance that can never happen – and Leliana are foolish.

She tries to make herself believe it, as she made her believe Flemeth’s lessons so long ago.

 

_Love_

“I cannot imagine what you begin to see in her.”

“Huh?” Elissa had been watching Leliana cook while she and Morrigan talked, and her mind had gone elsewhere while her friend spoke.

“Your bard.  The one you are currently so distracted by.”

A happy sigh from Elissa, and a bright smile that she had almost forgotten how to do, “She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

“Not the word I would use.  But I suppose the dalliance makes up for the tedium of spending time with her.”

“I’ve no complaints there, if that’s what you’re asking,” Elissa replied, with a wryly primness.  “But it’s more than that.  She makes me happy.  And I think I make her happy.  But why are we talking about this, anyway?”

“Is this not what friends do?”

“My brother used to tease me about my dates.”

The mention of Fergus takes Morrigan by surprise, and she is unsure of what she should say.  The warden is her friend, and she doesn’t wish to upset her.

“I miss that.”  There’s a lot Elissa misses.  Walking with Oriana, playing with Oren, her family sharing meals together, the sounds of the castle.

“Well, if she makes you happy, then that is… good, I suppose, Warden.”

“If we’re friends,” Elissa says, “then you can call me ‘Elissa’”.

“I would rather not.”  Morrigan’s answer is too abrupt and too harsh, and the cheerful mood between the two of them is ruined.

For the next few days, Morrigan returns to her solitary nature while at camp.  She can’t find the words to explain that their friendship is a mistake, but she craves it as much as she regrets it.

 

It can’t last, Morrigan knows that.  None of this has ever been about her.  She has her mission, and she will fulfil it.

Morrigan uses Leliana in the end.  She hopes that the threat of Leliana being alone after the sacrifice – as Elissa had been left – will be enough to convince the other woman of the validity of her plan.  That Elissa will take that next step in convincing Alistair.

(it’s useless, Morrigan knows, to attempt to convince the man herself.  He likes her as much as she likes him).

There was hesitation, at the mention of Leliana, but Elissa shook her head.

“A Cousland does her duty,” she sounded as though she was reminding herself, as much as she was telling Morrigan.

Morrigan left, telling herself it was the smoke from the fireplace that made her eyes burn and sting.

 

“I need to know,” Elissa asks, as they stand in front of the mirror in the ruins, “did you ever actually care for me?  Or was our friendship just part of your plan?”

“It was never my intention to hurt you.”  Morrigan is more honest in those words than she’s ever been before in her life.  “I intended to gain your trust in any way I could so that you might agree to aid me.  Our friendship was… not a part of my plan.”

“And I should just believe you?”  Morrigan doesn’t blame Elissa for the wariness, or the way she still holds the knife.  She has seen too many betrayals by friends to take Morrigan’s kindly.

“I have given you no reason to trust.  Do as you will, Warden.”

Elissa meets her eyes, and Morrigan wonders what her friend is thinking.  She’s surprised to see tears, before Elissa rubs them away angrily with her free hand and throws the knife aside.

“I’m sorry,” she says.  And then, “I’ve missed you.”


End file.
